Future King
by the.authoress.15
Summary: Neal is approached one day, and is told some shocking news that could change his life forever. But even when that new life involves fame, power, and riches beyond even HIS wildest dreams...does he want this new life? And then he learns about a new danger that he has to watch out for. And this time he doesn't have the White Collar team with him. COMPLETE! Please review! ;
1. Prince

Neal looked back and forth between Peter and the man beside him, not believing what he'd heard.

"Are you serious?" he said incredulously to the European man.

The man nodded solemnly. "It is true. We have looked over official documents and records, and it is all fact."

Neal gave a disbelieving sort of laugh. "Don't you think that I would _know_ if my uncle was a king?"

The man shrugged and said, "Who can say for sure?"

Neal laughed again and looked at Peter, who had remained silent through the whole explanation. "Well," he said, "It looks like I didn't have to forge one after all – it's really true."

"Forge?" the man questioned with a puckered brow.

"He's forged bonds and things before," Peter said, knowing what would come next. "And stolen art."

"Allegedly," Neal said, completely unaware of what the man was getting at.

"Well," the man said, straightening, "Your Highness, you must get back to your country right now. I understand that this is very sudden, but King Wilhelm is dying, and you are the rightful heir to be king."

Neal's eyes bugged out, and for once, he didn't know what to say. "King," he said a little dazedly. He considered it for a moment; riches, power, freedom…

"He's on a tracker," Peter said. "He can't go two miles out of New York City, let alone to Parasa."

"He is king, he will be set free," the man said with conviction. "Look at your law books, Agent Burke – he has every right to leave to better our humble country of Parasa."

"Do you really want a con to be your king?" Peter said skeptically.

The man looked at him solemnly. "It is a king's responsibility to be there for his country. Prince Neal Caffrey will be king within the year, and he has to come to Parasa right now."

**Okay, so...short chapter, I know, but this is really more of a prologue than anything else. Later chapters will be longer, I promise!**


	2. Arrival

Neal stepped down from the steps of the private jet, and looked out at the land that would soon be his. The island wasn't very large, but he could see several houses in little communities in the distance. The jet had landed on the king's private airstrip, and lush green surrounded all sides.

As soon as Neal's foot touched the ground, two girls, probably around twenty years old, took a hold of both his arms and began to escort him to the car waiting for him. He smiled dazzlingly at them both and greeted them, introducing himself.

"My name's Neal Caffrey," he said, his smile still in place. "What are your names?"

The one with reddish-blond hair said, "Sarah Kellis," and Neal was startled at the similarity of her name with Sara Ellis, his almost-but-not-quite-girlfriend back in New York. He felt a pang of loss, but pushed it away – this was what he had always wanted.

But then the pretty brunette said, "Katie Morton," and Neal's smile dimmed a little at the thought of Kate Moreau. But she was gone – forever. There was nothing he could do about that now.

WCWCWC

Neal kept his face passive as the servant showed him to his new room, though inside, he was in awe. The room had a high ceiling, perhaps twenty feet high, shaped in a sort of dome. Everything was gold and cream-colored, and the four-poster bed had a gold silk comforter. He went to the bathroom and saw that it had the same theme. He couldn't tell if the gold-colored things were real gold or not, but he didn't care – this was amazing. The closet was astounding as well, probably about as big as his apartment back home. There were some nice suits in there, and even a fine collection of fedoras. Neal remembered several occasions when Peter had teased him about his hats, and he adjusted the one he was wearing, the one he'd had since getting out of prison and June had given him Byron's. Mozzie would get a kick out of this.

Mozzie. He had left him back in New York. Mozzie had been shocked that Neal was a prince in line for a crown, and at first thought that Neal was pulling a con, but finally he'd been convinced of its truth when the man had pulled up in front of June's house in a black stretch limo with Parasa's flags on the front and back. He had come to pick up Neal to go back to Parasa. He'd had to say a hurried good-bye before Neal got into the car and left, not knowing when he would see him again. He didn't know when he'd see _anyone _in New York again.

He'd been allowed to leave back to Parasa, and though reluctant to let him go, Peter didn't fight it, seeing that this was what Neal wanted. It hurt, but Peter had pushed it away. Neal had doubts at first, but now he was warming up to the idea as he saw the splendor before him. He had promised to contact Peter and Mozzie once he had settled in, and then at least once every week after that.

"Is this sufficient enough for you?" the servant broke into his thoughts, concerned at the flaccid expression on his future king's face.

Neal turned and gave him a smile. "Sorry," he said, "Thank you – this is perfect."


	3. Ben

Neal lied in his bed that night, wearing his custom-made silk pajamas. The room was pitch black, but he stared up at the ceiling anyway, as though he could see the painting up there that had taken six years to paint. He hoped that the painter had been paid a lot – he had seen the beautiful artwork earlier and it was definitely worth the artist's time. He made a mental note to ask around about it the next day.

Then he sighed. He was delaying the inevitable thoughts that would enter his head. It was time to face them.

He had left Peter, Elizabeth, Sara, June, Moz, Diana, Jones, Hughes, his entire _life _back in New York. But it was his duty to help his country…wasn't it? Or did he tell himself that to get over the guilt of being bought out?

WCWCWC

Ten minutes later, Neal glanced at the luminous hands on his wrist watch, and calculated the time difference in his head. Back in New York, it would be about seven-fifteen at night. Peter would've gotten home from work a little while ago. He would be waiting for Neal's call.

Neal sighed and rolled over in bed, intending to end his roll standing, but then he remembered that this bed was bigger than the one he had back home, and had to roll over again before he could place his feet on the floor. He went to the dresser and picked up his cell phone, scrolling through until he found Peter's number. He held it to his ear, and a few moments later, Peter answered.

"Neal?"

"Hey, Peter," Neal said. "I'm in Parasa now, in a room about as big as your house and structured with gold, and servants to attend to my every need."

"Sounds like you're living the life so far," Peter said, but Neal didn't notice the sadness in his friend's voice as he answered.

"Yeah! It's great. I met my uncle today. He's like, seventy, but he's pretty cool. It's a shame he's dying."

"Yeah. Shame." Peter agreed.

"So how's everyone else taking it? I know I left on pretty short notice."

"Yeah. Let's just say that everyone is pretty surprised. Some are surprised that you're _going_ to be a king. The others are surprised that you pulled off a forgery so well that the country _believes_ that you're going to be king."

"Under which category do _you _fall under, Peter?"

It was silent on the other end of the line for a moment, and then Peter answered, "I'll let you know."

Neal nodded to himself, expecting this sort of response but unprepared for the stab of hurt it sent him. He pushed the feeling away and said, "Well…tell El I said hi. Mozzie wanted me to call him, too."

"Take care, Neal." Peter said fondly, and Neal gulped and hung up the phone without answering.

WCWCWC

The next morning, Neal forgot all about the phone call as he was served breakfast from several different servants. He sampled the biscuits and gravy, bacon, pancakes, French toast, fruit, waffles, even homemade Pop-Tarts. By the time he was finished, he was so full he felt like he was going to fall over. He felt like he was on a strange sort of high as he went outside, intending to walk off all of that food.

He found that the castle had a maze behind it, just like in old movies, and decided to go in there. He found his way to the other side easily, and started to go back, but then he saw a boy a little ways off, sitting on a stone bench in the middle of a flower garden. He was probably about sixteen or seventeen years old, and he just stared at the ground, his dark hair flopping over his forehead in a way that reminded Neal of himself. Neal went over to him, a bit cautiously, not knowing who the boy was.

The boy looked up as Neal approached, and stood. "Prince Neal?" he asked.

Neal nodded and smiled, putting his hand out for the boy to shake. "Just Neal," he said. "What's your name?"

"Oh – sorry," he said, shaking Neal's hand. "I'm Prince Benjamin. Call me Ben."

"You're a prince too, huh?" Neal said. "Do you like it?"

He shrugged. "I guess so. So you came from America?"

Neal nodded. "New York City," he clarified.

Ben's eyes practically popped out at his excitement. "New York City? I've always thought it would be cool to go there. There's so many art museums I'd love to see! Did you go to any museums, Neal?"

Neal shrugged and smiled a little. He'd been to several of the museums in New York City, before and after he was arrested. "Sure," he said. "What sort of art do you like?"

He shrugged. "Oh, I don't know. I like paintings, but statues are really cool, too. I tried to paint and sculpt a few times, but I'm not really that good at it, so I stopped."

Neal raised his eyebrows. "You quit? Well, that's no way to get better at something. You have to keep trying, until you get it perfect."

Ben sighed. "It's not really like I have time anymore. Except…well, now you're here, so I _will _have more time…thanks, Neal."

Later, Neal wondered what Ben had meant by his last comment. Now that Neal was here, he would have more time to paint. Why did his presence change that?

Then he sighed. It would take a while to figure out everything here in Parasa.


	4. Acceptance

Peter stared at the picture of him and Neal. It was the picture that had been taken when they were going to go help Mozzie with the De Luca problem, and were dressed up like they were going to prom, as Elizabeth had put it. They were both happy, even Neal. He belonged in New York City – Peter knew that. But Neal didn't, as it was obvious since he was half a world away living life as a prince.

He wasn't sure what to make of Neal's position. Neal had been known to pretend to be a prince on a couple of occasions, but he had seen true, honest surprise when the man had come and told Neal of his royalty. Then again, Neal was a con – he lied for a living. He remembered how many times Neal had lied to him about the treasure, and except for the first time that Peter had accused him of stealing it, he had had it all along. And Peter had trusted him, until Keller had kidnapped his wife and it all came to light.

Still, even after all of that, they had regained trust with each other, and he could see that Neal was happy. He remembered when he had asked what Neal and Mozzie had been arguing about, and Neal hadn't wanted to leave. Why had that changed now that he was prince?

He had let Neal go, because he had thought that Neal would be happy. Even so, he had wished that Neal would change his mind and stay. Neal had sounded happy in the phone call the night before, but…he hadn't been able to see his expression. He didn't know if he had been lying or not. Still, being a king legally without anyone chasing him had to have been more appealing than a 2-mile radius working for the FBI with the constant risk of possibly going back to prison, or even killed. Maybe that was it. Before, when Neal had had the treasure, maybe he didn't want to go because he knew he would be chased for the rest of his life. Now, everyone knew where he was, but it was okay, because he was free.

Peter sighed, putting the picture in its frame back on his desk. He stared at it for a moment longer, and then turned to the case file in front of him. He had to go back to work.

_Hm…an old associate of Nick Halden's, _Peter thought, reading over the file. _We could probably get Neal to…_ Then he stopped his thoughts in its tracks. Neal was gone. He wasn't coming back. He should learn to accept that.


	5. Target

_You make a difference, Neal. You really do._

Neal remembered the comment that Peter had made to him right before he was supposed to get on the plane with Kate. He made a difference. Yes. He did. He knew that. But that didn't mean he couldn't make a difference in Parasa.

"Neal?"

Neal looked up at Ben, who was looking at him with concern. "Are you alright, Neal?"

Neal gave him a smile, a smile free of all worry and loneliness. "Sure," he said easily. Ben wasn't fooled, though he didn't say anything about it. He had seen the look on Neal's face when he had walked in – it was one of loneliness. He didn't have any family sort of friends here – they were all back in New York. But Ben didn't push it.

"I was just wondering if you could help me with my painting right now," Ben said hopefully. "I saw a few of your paintings in your room – forgive me, I didn't mean to pry – but they were so good that I thought maybe…"

"Sure, Ben," Neal said before the young man could go any further. He stood up. "Let's go to the garden – the light is good there."

Ten minutes later, Ben was practically bouncing with excitement as he helped Neal carry down easels, a couple of canvases, some paint, and lots of different-sized paintbrushes.

"Why do we have only red, yellow, blue, white, and black?" Ben asked. "What are we painting?"

"I'm not sure yet," Neal said. "But I like to mix colors more than I like to pick them out. You can change it easier by just adding more of one color. You end up wasting less paint that way."

Ben nodded, and for a while Neal forgot about New York as he taught Ben about brushstrokes and pressure. They were painting a picture of a little boy playing the piano, and Ben was actually a lot better than he let on. Neal was impressed. While he wasn't so good that he would be able to forge someone else's work, he had his own style of painting, and was pretty good for how long he'd been doing it.

After they had been painting for a couple of hours, they decided to take a break. As Neal gathered up the brushes, he happened to glance up and see something that made his blood run cold. Someone was standing in one of the guard towers, holding a sniper rifle pointed in their direction.

Without another moment's thought, Neal shot over to where Ben stood in front of his easel, tackling him so that they both landed behind a water feature with a statue on it. A hail of bullets followed as they cowered down for safety, but they didn't ever hear the gun - it obviously had a silencer on it. Then, as suddenly as the attack had started, it stopped. The two of them paused for a minute, waiting for more gunfire, and then Neal cautiously raised his head and looked at the guard tower. No one was there. He stood up and helped Ben to his feet.

"Thanks," Ben said a little shakily.

Neal nodded. "No problem." he seemed much calmer than Ben, who had obviously never dealt with an attack before.

Neal nodded over to their paintings. On Neal's, one of the bullets had gone right through the young boy's head. "Gives a whole new meaning to 'he's lost his head', doesn't it?"

Ben nodded. "Yeah," he said with a relieved sort of sigh that they were both alright. He looked over as he noticed several people running out of the castle, having heard the destruction from inside.

Neal looked at Ben. "Someone just tried to kill you, Ben." he stated.

Ben shook his head. "Why would someone do that? I'm not second in line for the throne anymore, Neal - _you _are. Someone just tried to kill _you_."


	6. Advice

The guard in the tower was found in some bushes a few yards away from the tower, passed out cold. When he woke up a long while later, he didn't remember anything of what had happened, let alone the identity of the sniper. Several of the guards and servants were concerned that this incident might drive Neal to go back to New York, but he assured them that he was staying there. After all, he had been shot at several times before working with Peter on FBI cases, and it hadn't scared him off then – he certainly wasn't being scared off now.

That night, he sighed as he rubbed his face in his hands. It was almost midnight, and he hadn't been able to get to sleep, no matter how hard he tried. Someone had tried to kill him. That shouldn't bother him, but…something seemed off. He paced about the room as he tried to figure out what was wrong.

He remembered how Ben had said that he wasn't in line for the throne – _anymore_. So if Neal hadn't shown up, Ben would be the king, once Wilhelm died. That gave him reason enough to kill him, but he had been right with him when the sniper had started taking potshots at him. But he _had _been the one who had asked him to come out and paint with him. And he was more skilled in painting than he let on, so he would've known that the garden was the best spot at that time of day. He could've employed someone to do it so that everyone would think he was innocent.

Neal sighed. He didn't want to think that his cousin, still only a teenager, could be a killer mastermind. Everything about him - his curious eyes, his mischievously tousled hair - contradicted anyone evil. He just couldn't picture it.

But he couldn't ignore the facts. If Neal died, Ben would be king. _Was _he trying to kill him?

WCWCWC

Peter awoke from a light sleep around ten-thirty to his phone vibrating on the nightstand. He sighed and picked it up, without even bothering to glance at the Caller ID.

"Burke," he said.

"I need your help, Peter."

Peter sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "What's wrong, Neal?" he jibed. "Can't decide if you want the rubies or the emeralds?"

"No. Someone tried to kill me this morning while I was painting with my cousin."

Peter quickly grew serious. "Oh. Who was it?"

"I don't know - the sniper left before we found out."

"So…what do you want me to do? I'm half a world away, you know." He said it sort of hoping that Neal would catch the subtle hint that he wanted him back in New York, but Neal didn't pick up on it.

"I know, but…I'm not sure. I just need someone to talk to. I don't know if it was Ben that planned it."

"Ben…he's your cousin? Is he third in line or something?"

"Yeah."

"So if he's third in line, killing you would put him higher up, and once Wilhelm dies, he would be king."

"Pretty much, yeah. But Ben is just too…he's only sixteen. He's too nice and trustworthy."

"Could be an act."

Neal sighed. "I know. I'm trying to think…of something that would convince me, tell me _for sure_, that Ben didn't employ someone to come and kill me."

"Well, he was with you, so if it was a sniper, wouldn't he want to stay away, just in case the shot was off target?"

"Not if he knew the accuracy of the shot." Neal rubbed a hand over his face as he paced the room. "I don't know what to do, Peter. It might not be him, but it could be. I don't know if I should be alone with him again."

"Better not," Peter advised. "Not until you know who's trying to kill you."

After that, Neal steered away from the topic of the killer away and they talked for a bit before peter finally said that he should get back to bed – El was restless, him not lying next to her.

"Good-bye, Neal."

Neal sighed and hung up the phone, and then whispered, "Good-bye, Peter."


	7. Passageway

It was a wonderful plan – Neal had no doubt about it. First, it would show that he would be a good king in the future, and second, it would draw his would-be killer out. Yes, it was a little dangerous and if Peter knew, he would kill him…but he had to catch this guy, or _he _would kill him. Neal had come up with the idea himself, though he told no one the _real _reason why he was throwing a ball open to everyone in the kingdom.

He smiled to himself as he made all of the arrangements. The ball would take place the next night, and the news of it had been sent out this morning. He was sure that most of the kingdom would come. So he tried to make it the best he could, to make a good impression on the people as well. He ordered the finest foods and the best entertainment, and he found himself wishing that El was there to help him plan. But he pushed the thought away as he chatted with the caterer about the food.

WCWCWC

"So why the sudden party?" Ben asked the next afternoon, a few hours before the ball. They were in the ballroom, Neal directing the workers about the decorations. Neal turned to him.

"I figured it'd make a good first impression on the people of Parasa, seeing as how I'm the future king." He watched Ben's reaction closely, but he didn't see any expression that might clue him in to him being the would-be killer mastermind.

Ben opened his mouth to say something, but then a servant rushed in, calling out to Ben.

"Prince Benjamin, Your Highness!" she called, and dipped into a quick curtsy. "There is a problem with your tuxedo sizing – the tailor needs you right away in your chambers!"

Ben nodded to her. "Thank you," he said, and walked off to his room.

Neal sighed. He didn't want Ben to be guilty, but if he was…

He pushed the thought from his head and kept working.

WCWCWC

Neal adjusted his black bowtie as he looked in the mirror. He remembered a little while ago, when he had gone with Peter to go save Mozzie, and he had dressed up just like this. He missed Peter – he missed having someone at his back in case something went wrong. And it hadn't just been Peter – Diana, Jones, Mozzie, Hughes, even Elizabeth had helped him, gotten him out of a tight situation, at some point or another.

But now…he was alone. Ben _might _have his back…but he might also be the person that wanted to kill him. King Wilhelm was on his deathbed – he wasn't expected to live through even another couple of weeks.

Why had he only been discovered just now, anyway? Why hadn't anyone looked for him before now? He never would've become a con. His mother hadn't said anything about his father being a prince. He'd known that he had two uncles on his dad's side, but his mom had told him that they had severed all connections when she had married their brother, and they had eventually lost contact.

Neal sighed. He'd never know – he should've accepted that by now. He stood up straighter as a knock came on the door.

"Come in," he called. Ben opened the door and poked his head in.

"You ready?" he asked him, his eyes bright.

"Yep," Neal said, buttoning his jacket. "I'm ready."

WCWCWC

_He hasn't made any attempt yet, _he thought. _What's he waiting for? It's been three hours – there's only two more hours to this party. If he doesn't come out…_

Neal reflected on the people that he'd met that evening. They were all very kind and eager to meet him. He smiled and chatted to relax the more nervous of the crowd, and he'd even met the forty-something man who'd painting the ceiling in his room.

Neal sighed as the orchestra played yet _another _ballad. He was bored – annoyingly so. He tapped his foot in impatience as he glanced around to make sure no one noticed his boredom. It wasn't exactly polite, but this was a ball, not a girl's slumber party. There wasn't going to be any lively music any time soon. Still...

He sighed. If Peter were there, he would find a way to keep Neal amused. He glanced around for Ben – maybe he could…

Wait. Where was Ben?

There were too many teenage boys with dark hair and black tuxedos for him to distinguish Ben exactly, but somehow he knew, deep in his gut, that Ben wasn't in the room any longer. And, along with that feeling, was the sense that Ben wasn't gone of his own choosing.

Trying to look calm, Neal walked out of the ballroom, giving anyone who asked the excuse that he was going to the bathroom.

Once Neal got out, he glanced around, but couldn't see any sign of Ben. He turned to the guard stationed at the door and asked, "Did you see Prince Benjamin come out this way?"

The guard shook his head, and Neal went back inside, intending to go to the other side and ask around there. But then he noticed something odd – the tapestry at the base of the stairs was hung a little awry. He remembered that secret doors were frequently hidden behind something like a large tapestry such as that one, and went toward it. He moved toward it and pushed the tapestry aside, and pushed around on the stone bricks a bit before one gave and opened a door to reveal a long, dark, musty hallway. He stepped in and let the tapestry fall behind him, though he kept the door open, just in case.

"Ben?" he called softly, his voice echoing down the hallway. He pulled out his cell phone and turned it on, using it as a flashlight as he walked down the hallway. He soon came upon a fork, and debated which way to go. He heard a shuffling sound down the left corridor, but, knowing that the acoustics in a dungeon-like area like that were iffy, he went down the right one.

"Ben?" he called again, but still got no response. He wondered if Ben had his phone on, and as soon as the thought entered his head, he dialed Ben's number. He thought he heard a faint ringing in the distance, and quickly followed the sound down several other long hallways. He redialed twice, and soon found Ben in a cage-like area at the end of one of the corridors. He was unconscious, hands free but ankles shackled to the wall as he lied on the ground. A deep purple bruise swelled on his temple, his hair flopping forward over his eyes.

Neal quickly rushed forward and pulled his lock-picking set out of the pocket of his jacket. He had been prepared for anything, not knowing how the person had intended to kill him this time. He was glad that he had come prepared, but now he was confused. Why was Ben the target this time?

He made quick work of the lock on the cage, and rushed in to unlock the shackles on Ben's ankles. Ben began to wake up as he did so, but he didn't say anything, only watching Neal through bleary, bloodshot eyes, seemingly confused.

"Hey, buddy," Neal said once he was finished. He brushed Ben's hair away from his eyes, noticing when he flinched. "Hey, it's just me – Neal. Say something to me."

Ben just looked at him, not breathing a word. Neal quickly helped him sit up, Ben groaning and holding a hand to his head once he was upright. But still he said nothing.

"Hey, pal, can you stand for me?" Neal said, worry clear in his voice. Ben nodded and arose on shaky legs, and with Neal's help, walked out of the cage and begun making the trudge toward the beginning.

"Say something to me, Ben – please." Neal said as Ben still kept silent. He was beginning to worry that he had some brain damage.

"I'm not trying to kill you, Neal," he whispered after a moment, his voice a little hoarse.

Neal sighed and nodded, relieved that Ben was apparently fine. "I know, Ben." He said, meaning it. "I know."


	8. Done

"Ben isn't the killer."

Neal said the words out loud to himself that night as he stared at himself in the bathroom mirror. Water dripped from his face – he had just washed it, and now he said his thoughts out loud. He had learned a while ago that it was always better to say everything he was thinking out loud – it helped him figure things out better.

"He was attacked by someone at the ball where the person was supposed to kill me," he continued. "But apparently it's not something that has to do with who's in line for the throne, unless…maybe it's fourth in line. Who would that be? My dad is dead, and so is Uncle Bartholomew, Ben's dad. It couldn't be them. Ben doesn't have a brother, and neither do I. So after that, wouldn't it be whoever is on King Wilhelm's wife's side?"

He sighed and tiredly rubbed his hands over his face. He wasn't getting anywhere in his speculations, and Ben hadn't remembered who had brought him to the cell-like area below the castle. The last thing he remembered was a hand over his mouth when he had left to go to the bathroom. No one else had seen anything, and Ben's attacker was gone, no sign of him anywhere.

Neal went back to his bedroom and picked up his phone on his bedside table. It was time to call Peter – maybe he could help.

A few minutes later, the other end was silent as Peter processed everything Neal had just told him. He sighed into the speaker and said, "I can't do anything about this, Neal. All I can say is that none of this would've happened if you'd stayed in New York."

There. He'd said it. He'd gotten his feelings out there – that he never wanted Neal to leave. Peter held his breath as he waited for his former partner's response. Neal breathed into the phone for a moment, and then said very deliberately:

"Thank you for your time, Peter, and I'm sorry for waking you up in the middle of the night. But since you apparently only want me back in New York so that _you_ can constantly put _me _in life-threatening situations, take the glory for it, and then turn around and not give a damn when I couldn't _help _my situation at all when I'm finally free…"

"Neal," Peter interrupted, but Neal continued as though he hadn't spoken.

"…I'll just stop calling for your advice anymore. I'm an ex-con about to become king, and you're an FBI agent. I'll just talk to my own advisors here in Parasa. I don't even need to worry about being killed anymore, because you've already succeeded in stabbing me in the back."

"Neal," Peter sounded shocked at his words, "You're being really melodramatic."

"Am I?" Neal didn't wait for an answer as he shook his head to himself. "Good-bye, Agent Burke."

He hung up the phone, and a few moments later, it rung again, Peter's Caller ID flashing across the screen. He turned it on silent and shoved the phone under his pillow. It vibrated after a few more seconds, but he ignored it.

Neal lied down on his bed, ignoring the single, solitary tear that fell out of his eye. He didn't need Peter anymore.


	9. Neal

Though Peter wasn't a worldly sort of man, he cared about a lot of things in his life. He loved watching a Yankees game on the television, and he liked going to a live game even more. He liked to have lunch with El after a particularly grueling morning at the office. He loved being with several people as well, from Diana and Jones to Hughes to El to Satchmo.

And then there was Neal. Charismatic, careless, capricious, cocky, companionable, courageous, charming Neal. When Neal had first proposed the deal of being on the tracking anklet while working for the FBI, he had been more than a little skeptical, but since then, Neal had proven himself time and time again, and they had developed a partnership that was more than just Fed and con. They had become best friends. They would risk their lives for the other without a moment's hesitation. Yes, sometimes Neal could be impulsive and stupid, but then he would bounce right back to the right side of things, with a little guidance from Peter. Yes, they would get into disagreements, but somehow they always made it back. Neal had embedded himself so deeply into Peter's life, and he cared for him like an older brother.

…Which is why he had been so shocked when Neal had left New York, Mozzie, everyone he knew, and gone off to a distant island to be crowned king. Yes, he could see the allure of being rich and powerful, but he remembered when Neal had been about to go off with Kate.

Neal had said that he hadn't said good-bye to Peter because he was the only one who could convince him to stay. This time though, he had said good-bye to him. He had even let Peter drive him to the airport, where the private jet was waiting to take him to Parasa. Apparently _nothing _could convince him to stay with the thought of money and power. It was a little sad – he could be convinced to stay away in New York, perhaps without Kate, but not when there was the prospect of money involved in the deal.

Peter sighed as he thought about this. He was in his office, and the desk where Neal used to sit was empty. The only thing that even hinted that Neal had owned that desk at some point was the bobble head that always sat on the corner of the desk.

Neal had been in Parasa for two weeks now. It had been six days since Neal had accused him of stabbing him in the back. That's not what Peter had intended at all – he just missed Neal, and not just because it gave him a higher chance of cracking a case. They were friends, and being together had become the new norm.

Now, though, he hadn't seen Neal for two weeks, and he was feeling the loss. The entire White Collar unit was, actually. Everyone seemed more subdued, Neal's antics no longer amusing or distracting them from their work. Work was no longer as fun as it was before, held no more laughter. No one had realized before just how much Neal Caffrey meant to them.


	10. Mozzie

_August_

The days passed by in a blur of nothing. Neal had been in Parasa for almost six weeks now, but King Wilhelm was still pulling through. Neal visited often, though the old king was hardly coherent anymore.

He had never called Peter back after his accusation, and his calls to Mozzie were becoming less and less frequent. At first Mozzie had been on Neal's side, but he could tell that Mozzie's opinion was starting to sway as time went on. He didn't call Sara, either – what was the point? He had soon severed all connections to New York, except for the occasional call to Mozzie.

"You've changed, Neal," Mozzie had said when Neal had called him last time. "I don't know what it is, but you've changed. You're not who you used to be. Even working with the Feds was better than who you are now."

Neal had sighed in exasperation and bid farewell. That had been a week ago. He knew he was growing distant with his former partner-in-crime, but he found himself not even caring anymore. He belonged in Parasa, where he could rule the people fairly and without judgment. It was his duty.

At least, that's what he tried to tell himself.

WCWCWC

Neal sighed as he dialed Mozzie's number three days later. Mozzie answered, saying:

"It's about time I heard from you."

Neal ignored the disapproval in his friend's voice. He sighed again and said, "Mozz, I'm sorry. I need your help, though."

"Why should I help you? I thought you didn't care about New York anymore."

"Of course I care about New York," Neal started, but Mozzie interrupted.

"Oh, yeah? Then why are you off on some distant island instead of here? When was the last time you called the Suit?"

Neal swallowed uncomfortably. "Peter and I got into a sort of disagreement."

"Bull," Mozzie snapped. "You two _always _get into arguments, but you're always fine the next day. Why would you hold a grudge against him for five weeks?"

"Look, Mozzie, I didn't call you to talk about Peter," Neal said frustratedly. "I called because I need you to come to Parasa and help me."

Now Mozzie was curious. "You mean help you find the guy trying to kill you?"

Neal rolled his eyes but said only, "Yes. He's been lying low, but Wilhelm is dying. He could go any day now, and once he's gone, my would-be assassin is going to come at Ben and me even stronger. I need your help here."

Neal could hear Mozzie breathing on the other end of the line for a moment, and then Mozzie said simply, "I'll go to the airport tomorrow at five pm. I expect you'll have that jet ready and waiting for me."

Neal nodded and breathed, "Thanks, Mozz."

Mozzie sighed. "I still think you should call the Suit. He's not in the best shape right now." Then he hung up.


	11. Prisoners

Mozzie sat in the Parasan airport the next night, waiting for Neal to come and pick him up. He checked his watch again. Neal was supposed to have picked him up an hour ago. Normally he would've found this concerning, but Neal had been a little…flaky lately. His calls had become less and less frequent, and with every call, Neal sounded more distant and unlike himself. He knew without having to see that some of the light was gone from Neal's eyes – he could hear it in his voice. His voice had been almost clinical as he spoke, and El had told him about the last call he'd had with Peter. Mozzie had felt angry that Neal was letting himself grow more and more distant from those that he cared about, and he wanted to help.

Mozzie glanced at his watch again, and then stood, beginning to pace. He pulled out his cell phone and called Neal, but it went to voicemail. Again. He wondered what was going on. Had King Wilhelm finally croaked? Was Neal dealing with that right now, so he had perhaps forgotten about Mozzie's arrival?

Still, that didn't seem like something the old Neal would've done. But this new Neal…he didn't know.

WCWCWC

Neal hadn't forgotten about Mozzie. He wasn't busy, either, and he wasn't trying to leave Mozzie at the airport just out of spite. He was physically incapable of going to get him.

Neal struggled against the duct tape around his wrists, ankles, and waist. A rag had been stuffed into his mouth, tape sealed over it to keep him silent. His prison was dark and cold, and he couldn't hear anything. His eyes were open, but it did no good. He couldn't see a thing in the darkness. His phone had been taken away while he was unconscious, so he had no way of communication.

Neal breathed out through his nose, frustrated. He had been taken by a couple of men on his way to the airport. He had been driving himself, so no one else was there to see as their future king was hijacked within two miles of the castle. He hadn't told anyone how long he would be out, just said that he was going to be with a friend for the night, so no one would know that he was missing until morning. And he was sure that if he wasn't found by then, there would be nothing left to find afterward. He'd end up being in an unmarked grave miles away, and no one would be the wiser. They would find a new king, and maybe that king would live, or maybe he would be targeted, too.

Neal heard someone groan beside him, and a foot touched his. Neal recognized Ben's groan with perfect clarity and quickly tried to sit up to help him. He hadn't known that anyone was in this prison with him. But, after several tries, Neal wasn't able to get into a well enough position to try and rouse Ben.

But his efforts were unnecessary as, a minute later, it was clear that Ben was conscious. He made muffling noises, and it was clear that he was gagged, too.

"Mmph! Mmph-mm," Neal tried to tell Ben to be quiet.

"Mm?" Ben said, and it was clear that he was asking if it was Neal.

"Mm-hm," Neal said. "Mm-mph-mmph?" He was asking where they were, and Ben understood.

"Mm-mm mmph," Ben answered, and Neal quickly deduced that they were in the secret room from before, when Ben had been taken during the ball.

"Hm-mm," Neal said – _help me_.

"Hmm?" Ben asked – _how_?

A couple of minutes later, Ben had located a loose brick in their prison, and used the corner of it to slowly, painstakingly, saw through the tape on his wrists. After that, it was easy to unbind both of them, and Neal quickly felt around for the door, hoping that he could unlock it with his lock picking set still in his suit pocket.

"Are you going to be able to pick the lock?" Ben asked, a nervous tremor in his voice as he heard what Neal was attempting to do.

"Sure," Neal said easily, trying to calm the teen. "I did it before, didn't I?"

"Last time you had a light." Ben pointed out.

Neal smiled to himself at Ben's naïveté. "I've picked locks in the dark before, too."

Ben was silent for a moment, and then he said, "About New York…why did you leave?"

Neal was surprised by this sudden question from the teen, so surprised that he paused in trying to find the lock. "Because I was told it was my duty to come here and help," he said. "If there was someone that needed me, I should come and help them. Being a rich king is purely fringe benefits."

"But didn't you have people that needed you in New York?" Ben asked him. "That agency that you used to work at – the FBI – didn't _they _need you?"

Neal swallowed a little uneasily and resumed looking for the lock. "Sure, I guess," he said. "But I'd already worked for them for a couple of years and helped several times."

"Why didn't you stay so that you could help even more?" Ben asked him. "I mean, _I _could've become king and helped just as much as you could."

Neal was surprised by this comment, but he didn't answer because he'd just found the lock. He pulled out his tools and began working at it.

"The FBI hasn't exactly been too _grateful _to everything that I've done for them," he said slowly.

"Why?"

"Well, they don't fully trust me. I used to be a…con artist…but with the help of Peter, I struck a deal to get out of prison and work for the FBI on a tracking anklet. I was to work for them for the duration of my prison sentence, and then I would be free." He swallowed, remembering Agent Kramer. "But some people wanted to take advantage of my skills, so I had to leave. I went to Cape Verde, trying to get a new life…" he remembered Agent Collins. "But then a bounty hunter came after me. Long story short, Peter helped me come back and strike up my old deal again, but lots of people still don't trust me."

"But what about this Peter?" Ben asked as the lock clicked open. "From the way you talk about him, he sounds like family almost. So doesn't _he _trust you? Wouldn't he want you back in New York?"

Neal never answered his question, instead opening the door and stepping aside. "Come on." He said. "We're free now."

Neal could tell that Ben was shaking his head. "You're not free, Neal. You'll never be free until you find what you _truly _want."


	12. Plan

_You'll never be free until you find what you __**truly**__ want._

Neal thought about Ben's words the next morning as he lied in bed, staring at the ceiling. Ben had wisdom beyond his years; there was no doubt about that. He had been raised thinking that he was going to be the king of Parasa, and had had responsibility set on his shoulders from an early age. Now, Neal was going to be king. It must've been sudden for Ben, realizing that he wasn't going to become king as he had always believed growing up.

Neal remembered when he had met Ben. Ben had said that he was glad that Neal had come along, because now that he didn't have as many duties he could focus more on painting and arts. He hadn't realized it then, but now he realized that it wasn't relief that he had seen in Ben, it was disappointment. He _wanted _to be king, but he put on a brave façade, believing that Neal could make a better king than he could. He wanted Parasa to have the best leadership – that was the mark of a true king.

Neal sighed, feeling guilty as he closed his eyes. Then his eyes snapped back open. He was a forger. He had forged everything from money to art to bonds. Now, he just needed to do a bit of research.

Four hours later, Mozzie looked on proudly as Neal worked. Neal had told Mozzie his plan, and he was grateful that Neal was…well…being Neal, doing the right thing, as always. Now, all that had to be done was find the person that was trying to kill him and Ben.

**Sorry for the short chapter, guys, but I really only wanted to make ****_one_**** point in here, and it seemed wrong to add another for this chapter. You'll understand when you figure out what Neal was doing (any guesses?)...**

**Oh, and PLEASE comment and tell me how I should draw the killer out...I don't know how to do that part without making it seem like I'm trying to rush through it.**

**Also, has anyone figured out who's trying to kill Neal and Ben? The person has been mentioned a couple of times...make a guess -please - because I want to know if my story is predictable or not. If no one guesses...well...hehehe, I'll feel very evil... ;)**


	13. Found

Just as Mozzie had informed him a few days before, Peter wasn't in the best shape. He missed Neal. He'd never have thought that the two of them would become best friends, but now…he felt the loss of his partner and friend. He went about his work a little dully, missing the light banter that Neal would always provide around the office to make the day brighter. Diana and Jones noticed, but they didn't comment on it. They missed Neal too, though probably not quite to the same extent as Peter.

Peter hadn't told anyone about Neal's words on the phone the last time he'd spoken – not even to his wife. He felt guilty, not having supported Neal more in his choice to become the king. It was Neal's life, after all. He could choose to live it however he wanted, now that he was a free man.

WCWCWC

"We need to draw this guy out," Neal said to Ben the next morning as they sat in the garden. "Any suggestions?"

Ben shook his head. "No," he said with a sigh. "Another ball would seem a little…quick, and not smart. People will think you're too extravagant, and won't trust you too much when you're king."

"Any other public sort of event that we could do?" Neal asked him. "Something that might get people engaged?"

Ben snapped his fingers. "A talent show," he said decisively. "We can put on a talent show open to all of the people of Parasa, no try-outs needed. Our excuse? You've already opened up about yourself to other people, now _you_ want to get to know _your _people before you rule them."

Neal nodded. "Sounds good. Let's go make preparations."

WCWCWC

_One week later _

Neal smiled as the teenage girl named Rajaah twirled and danced with the ribbons that were currently lit on fire. _These people really do have talent, _he reflected as she finished and took her bow. He clapped along with everyone else, admiration written on his face. He smiled at her as she met his eyes, and she blushed a little and walked off of the stage.

Then a man came up, holding a bag of fine sand and a table with a light underneath. Neal couldn't see his face, for he was wearing one of those masks that one half was a happy face and the other was tragic. He tilted his head with interest as the man set the table down, hooked it up to a projector, turned on the light, and poured the sand over the table in a fine layer. He smiled when he realized that the man was going to do sand art. He was no expert at it himself, but he could do a few things with it. But he was completely unprepared for what the man created.

First, the man shaped a child, in a crib. As the story went on, he recreated every scene with the sand from the previous one, destroying it but making a new one in its place. As the story went, the boy's parents were killed when he was a teenager, and then he went on to become an artist – sculpting, drawing, but mostly painting. It showed as he got married and had two children, and then was called by a king to paint some rooms in his castle. He didn't want to, but he knew he had to, so he left his family – apparently in some other country, for he took a boat ride to an island. He painted for several years, and then went back to his family. But they were gone, leaving a big question mark on his life. He didn't know what had happened to them. So he went on looking, but he could never find them. Then, abruptly, the scene changed, and instead of the sadness and sorrow, there was anger. He went searching for…something. After that, Neal wasn't quite sure what he was depicting, until he saw the shape of New York, a man's face in front of it. And then he realized…it was him.

Neal's eyes widened as the man seemed to make eye contact with him, but then the man went back to his art. He showed Neal coming over, and then put that in future years, there would be peace and prosperity. But he didn't show how that would come to be.

Neal glanced at Ben sitting next to him. Ben looked back at him, realizing the same thing Neal did. They looked back at the man as he stared at them, and then brushed his hand across the art. It looked natural to everyone else, but Neal and Ben knew the implied thoughts of the man. They looked at each other again, worry clear in their eyes even as they clapped and smiled along with everyone else.

This man – he was the person trying to kill them.


	14. Why?

Neal sighed in frustration as he paced about his room. Of course he and Ben had looked for the sand artist after the talent show, but he had seemingly disappeared right after his performance. No, they didn't have any _proof _that this was their guy, but it was just a feeling that they both knew in their guts. They had to get him to say something that would implicate him and get him in prison. And then Neal could go through with his plan – his plan would never work unless this guy was gone.

Neal paused at a sound behind him, and turned. "Mozzie?" he whispered into the darkness, wondering if he was trying to sneak up on him to try to scare him. But there was no other sound, so he shrugged it off and started to pace again.

He'd warned all of the guards to be on watch tonight, staying outside to make sure their guy didn't get in. Still, Neal wasn't sure it would help.

Just as Neal had this thought, something suddenly hit him hard on the back of his head. The room suddenly seemed bright as white flashed over his eyes, and then it was immediately dark again as he fell to the ground. He was vaguely aware of someone catching him, and then the dark mist fell over his eyes as he succumbed to unconsciousness.

WCWCWC

Mozzie was very anxious. This was a normal occurrence, really, but this time, he wasn't anxious so much because of Peter; he was anxious because of Neal's whole problem. He kept having the distinct feeling that something bad was going to happen that night, and had even gone so far as to tell Neal of his worries. But Neal just told him that he was being paranoid and went to his room to go to sleep.

Mozzie tried to do the same, but he just couldn't rest his eyes. He paced about the room, and somehow knew that right then, Neal was in trouble.

Well, whether Neal was aware of it or not, he was going to do something about it. He had to help. Now.

WCWCWC

Neal groaned as he woke up. His head was pounding in time with his heartbeat, and with each pulse it felt like someone was slamming into his head with a battering ram. He opened his eyes, and found that he was lying on the ground of a stone floor. A dim light shone through the room, courtesy of a bare light bulb in the ceiling. He winced as he turned his head, and closed his eyes for a moment. Still keeping his eyes closed, he sat up, realizing that he was untrussed. He moved his arms and legs to be sure that they were working properly. The only thing that was wrong was his splitting headache.

Neal was slowly able to open his eyes again, and he saw that Ben was unconscious a few feet away from him.

_Not again, _Neal thought as he slowly made his way over, so as not to hurt his head any more. He checked Ben's pulse – a little slower than normal, but strong. He sat back, leaning against the wall as exhaustion overtook him. He closed his eyes, but sleep didn't come. His heart pounded quickly in his chest, keeping him awake, but far from alert as the pounding in his head increased.

Neal winced as a door squeaked open, and opened his eyes to see a man in his late forties perhaps. He realized after a moment that it was the man who had painted the ceiling in his room.

_Why would __**he **__do this? _Neal wondered as he watched the man. He blinked, trying to wake himself up and calm his heart at the same time. Ben remained unconscious beside him as the man came to stand in front of him.

"Why?" Neal said simply.

The man shook his head at him, disgusted. "You royals took my wife and children away. This is merely me returning the favor to you."

Neal shook his head slowly. "But Ricardo, I didn't even know I was a prince. How could I have taken your family from you?"

Ricardo shook his fist at him angrily. "You're all the same!" he shouted hysterically. "All you care about is money, and beauty, and image! But this – _this _will show the people of Parasa that even their _king_ can be beaten, and put down!"

"What happened?" Neal asked, trying to calm the man.

Ricardo snorted. "I'm sure you heard the story. I was living with my family on a neighboring island, and then that king – your king that is now dying – he requested that I come to paint the ceiling in your bedroom. I never wanted to! But I had no choice – refusing the king results in being sent to sent to prison. So I bid farewell to my family, and came here for six years to paint the damn ceiling. I finish, and I go back to the other island to be with my family again. But they are gone! I searched, I asked around, but they just disappeared. And if Wilhelm hadn't forced me to paint his damn ceiling, I would be with them now.

"I have not seen them for nearly twenty years. I don't even know if they are alive anymore. But it is the royal family's fault. Without you, the people of Parasa would be free! They wouldn't have to obey their dictator with the fear of prison if they refuse! So it is my duty, having been wronged, that I get rid of the lot of you. And then we can become a democracy, and the people of Parasa will be free finally, as they should have been in the beginning!"

Neal had realized through Ricardo's explanation that the man wasn't quite operating on all cylinders. It made him worried – those were the most dangerous kinds of people. They were inexpert and jumpy – you never knew what they were going to do next.

And, looking at this man, he was sure that it would be dangerous to be with him for too long. He needed to get out – with Ben…right now.


	15. Help

Mozzie pulled up the tracking data to the GPS that he'd put in one of Neal's rings the day before. They hadn't been certain what would happen, but since he no longer had the tracking anklet, he'd needed to improvise. Mozzie had brought a GPS sticker per Neal's request when he'd arrived in Parasa, and had immediately put it on the ring that Neal had promised to wear until the man trying to kill him and Ben was caught.

Now, it came in handy as he saw that Neal was in the center of the castle, probably in a secret room below the basement. He quickly followed it, evading the guards (he didn't have any trust in any form of authority, of course). He found the passageway fairly easily, and was soon making his way toward the center of the castle.

WCWCWC

Neal cringed a little as Ricardo suddenly struck a blow to his cheek. It wasn't too hard, Ricardo not being very strong, but it felt like a freight train had hit him, what with his still subsiding headache. The headache now came back in full force, and Neal leaned back heavily against the wall trying to regain his breath.

"I lost everything!" Ricardo screamed angrily at him. "I will not be so…so _used _ever again!"

Ricardo leaves Neal for a moment as he goes to stand over Ben, who is just beginning to regain consciousness.

"And you did nothing to stop your uncle," Ricardo hisses, and kicks Ben in the torso. Ben groans and curls in on himself, though holding his head, apparently also having a migraine.

Neal zones out a little after that, his brain blocking out Ricardo's curses and occasional punch. He knows that Ricardo is only biding his time – soon he'll go in for the kill.

WCWCWC

Neal turns his eyes a little while later and sees a strange sight. At first he thinks he's imagining it, but then Mozzie puts a finger over his lips, and Neal knows that he's really there. He stands in the shadow at the doorway, out of view of Ricardo as Ricardo rants on to Ben.

_I'll cause distraction – you get out with Ben, _Mozzie mouths. Neal nods, and then shakes his head when he realizes that he won't be entirely able to get him _and _Ben out, both of them as wounded as they are.

**_I_**_ cause distraction, _Neal mouths. _You get Ben out. Come back with help._

_But Neal! _Mozzie's expression looks horrified.

Neal only looks at him. _It's the only way we'll __**all **__get out alive._

Mozzie sighs. Neal is right.

WCWCWC

Neal watches from the corner of his eye as Mozzie gets out, Ben in tow. It had been fairly simple to get Ricardo to focus on him – just make a few threats, about how he wouldn't get away with this, and all of those other things that amateurs say in a threatening situation.

But then when Ricardo saw that Ben had escaped, he was enraged.

"I'll get him back, Neal Caffrey," he hissed. "Just as soon as you're gone, he'll follow, and neither you nor your friend will be around to save him."

Neal only smiled calmly at him. He trusted Mozzie. As much as Mozzie didn't like authority, he knew that his friend would pull through and come back with help. Soon, he would be free.


	16. King

**So...almost done! I'm so excited! And congrats to True Love Lives Forever - you guessed right! Anyway, enough of my babbling...here's the chapter! Enjoy! (And PLEASE review!)**

Three days later, Ben looked up at Neal, disbelief etched over his handsome features.

"Why?" was all he asked.

Neal smiled at him a little, his expression peaceful. "It's best for everyone."

After Mozzie and Ben had left Neal alone with Ricardo, they had come back ten minutes later with several of the castle guards in tow, and they had immediately proceeded to arrest the middle-aged man. He had glared at everyone, but Neal was just glad that no one was going to try and kill Ben now. They had spent a couple of days resting, recuperating from the painful beating they'd taken, though none of their injuries were serious – just a few sore bruises and a split lip on Neal's part. Neal had then immediately gone through with his plan, completing the finishing touches on his plan and putting the information into the computer. Then he'd shown Ben, and now, Ben looked up at him with a wondering sort of expression.

"But…I thought…but you _wanted _this," Ben said, stumbling to find the correct words.

Neal shrugged. "The key word being want-_ed _," he said. "As in, _past_ tense. I don't want this anymore, but it's clear that _you _do."

Ben shook his head, but he was smiling. "You're really one of a kind, Neal. I can't think of _anyone _who would give up being king, let alone going through with an elaborate plan so that it looks like someone made a mistake in identifying you as the rightful heir, thereby not disregarding family honor."

A corner of Neal's mouth turned up in amusement. "What can I say? Forgeries are my niche. Forging a birth certificate wasn't too hard, and then all of the stuff following pertaining to my identification…well, I've got connections. Now everyone will believe that it was all a terrible mistake, and they won't be able to find the _true _son who's supposed to be king. That makes you the next in line."

"But I don't want this for the money, or power," Ben said.

Neal shook his head. "I know you don't. But that's not why I'm doing this. You'll make a great king – a strong king. I can't think of anyone better."

"So…what actually changed your mind to make you not want to be king anymore?" Ben asked after a moment.

Neal shrugged. "I think everything, really. But I think what finally convinced me to actually _go through _with leaving was when you told me that I would never be truly free until I find what I really want. And being a king, as many perks as there are, isn't one of those things. It wasn't cut out for me."

"So where are you going to go?"

Neal smiled and stood up, going toward the door. "Home."

WCWCWC

Neal watched from the jet window as the island of Parasa faded in the distance. Wilhelm had passed away peacefully two days before, and then it was a flurry of excitement for a few days as Ben was crowned the new king and insisted that Neal stay to watch. Everyone was still cordial with him, though a little less formal, once they had found out about the "mistake", as it had been presented. Only Ben, Mozzie, and Neal knew of the forgery, after all.

It had been two weeks since Neal had shown Ben the forgery, making it almost ten weeks since Neal had left New York. It had certainly been a crazy ten weeks, but now Neal knew what he wanted. Mozzie sat next to him on the jet, content with Neal's decision. Neal knew where he was going, and what he would do once he got there.


	17. Home

Peter sighed as he looked over a mortgage fraud case file in his office. There was always an abundance of those cases. Neal had never liked them, though he went about them dutifully. He missed joking with Neal about them, teasing that if Neal didn't do what he was told, he would give those files to him for a week.

He'd heard rumors floating around the office about a month ago that Neal was coming back to New York, but when he never received a call personally, he abandoned it to pure office rumors and went on with his cases.

A probie knocked lightly on Peter's open door. "Call for you on line six," she said.

"Thank you," Peter said, picking up his phone and pressing #6. "Burke. Yeah. Thanks." He sighed and hung up. He had to go down the hall to interrogate a suspect to a jewel heist after having just been brought in a few minutes before. He'd been after the woman for a week, and had just sent agents out to go and get her at a restaurant during a deal. Apparently they'd caught her, but they needed to find out who was pulling the strings. Hopefully this woman would spill her guts.

Peter snorted and stood up. Yeah. Right. _That _was likely to happen.

"…so I was like, are you _sure _you're going to get away with this? Because as cliché as this sounds, you're not. And you should've seen his face – it was hilarious!"

Peter's head snapped up, his eyes filled with wonder as he heard Neal Caffrey's voice in the bullpen. He practically ran out of his office, and saw Neal lounging in his desk chair, chatting with Diana and Jones, plus a few other curious agents. Neal glanced up and saw Peter, and his eyes seemed to light up.

"Hey, guys, I'll have to catch up with you all later." He stood up and trotted over to Peter, a smile on his face.

"Hey," Neal said a little quietly, sounding uncharacteristically nervous. Peter looked at him a moment, and then gave him an amused sort of smile and clapped him on the back, leading him to his office.

"Hey, Neal," he said. "It's good to see you alive and in one piece. What're you doing here?"

"I decided that New York was better," Neal said, a hint of charm in his voice. "It's where I belong."

Then Neal smiled a little in amusement and pulled something out of his pocket. It was the tracking anklet, the one Jones had kept in his desk though no one was sure that Neal would come back. Peter tilted his head and Neal grinned, putting his foot up on Peter's desk. Peter didn't say a word as Neal secured the anklet around his ankle and dropped his foot back to the ground.

"It fit okay?" Peter asked him with a small smile.

Neal continued smiling. "Yep. It fits perfect."

**One more chapter left! Don't go away!**


	18. Epilogue

"I still can't believe he _forged _his way out of being king," Hughes said to Peter a few days later.

Peter smiled, a little secretively. "He's Neal Caffrey," he said. "He loses his way occasionally, but he always comes out doing the good thing – the _right _thing. We're lucky to have him."

WCWCWC

Neal walked out of the hotel, a smug on his face as he walked toward the Municipal Utilities van around the corner. He opened the back door and walked in, still smiling as he looked at Peter and Jones sitting in front of the computers.

"Sorry about cutting out back there," he said. "It was, uh…" his smile broadened. "She was a little handsy." His lips were a little bruised, his hair a little rumpled, but his suit was as impeccable as always.

"Did you get the intel?" Jones asked a trifle impatiently.

Neal nodded, still smiling. "James Harlan," he said. "He'll be at the country club at nine-thirty on Friday morning to meet with his informant, a man posing as one of the employees in the spa."

Peter smiled a little crookedly, pulling out his phone and dialing Hughes' number. He told Hughes the information Neal had acquired, and then hung up.

"So…'good job, Neal'?"Neal asked, looking at the two agents with hopeful puppy-dog eyes.

Jones gave a small laugh. "You just seduced a young woman after you'd known her for an hour." He pointed out.

"And _that_, Junior, is how I got valuable information to track down the man you've been after for…how long was that again?"

"Oh, stop," Peter admonished both of them. "How Neal got the information is irrelevant – what's important is that with this intel, we can catch this guy."

"Yeah, we should all be grateful to me," Neal said with a cocky smile.

Now both Jones and Peter rolled their eyes, though Peter was smiling.

"What?" Neal said innocently when neither of the agents said anything.

Peter just shook his head, still smiling. "It's just good to have you back, Neal."

Neal's smile changed, now one of fondness, true contentment and not cockiness. "Peter, I can honestly say that it is _truly _good to be back."

**THE END**

**Yeah! I'm done! So sad, too, cuz it's like postpartum depression - this story was my baby...so how was it? Please review! Tell me how you guys liked it! I'm begging you! :) I'll see ya'll in another story! ;)**


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